A few weeks back I posted some “rough” writing ideas – wel they have taken shape since then and ere for your reading pleasure, a couple of summer stories, designed for kids and aduls and “kidults” – mum and dad, try these on your kids. I’d ove to know the reaction (good or bad.) Thanks and happy reading

WHEN WE WERE KIDS

It was the hottest day of the hottest ever summer.

It was the hottest ever summer since hot summers had been invented.

Temperatures soared into their hundreds, thousands, and even millions of degrees.

It was so hot that ice cream melted in the freezer.

It was so hot that cold drinks exploded to boiling point as soon as they were out the fridge.

It was so hot that people burned to a frazzle like steaks on a barbecue as soon as they set foot outdoors.

And all that people could do was sit and swelter, in their shuttered-up, darkened, sweaty houses, huddled round their cheap, «made in China» discount air conditioners, watching TV shows to pass the time.

And the kids were bored watching all the repeated repeats of old TV shows, whilst their parents guffawed at sad sitcoms that weren’t funny anymore, or sat on the edge of their seats, gripped by soap operas, so ancient that they looked like they had been made before soap had been invented.

«Ah, we had real summers back then» said dad, «Proper long, hot summers, when we would go to the seaside.»

And the kids wondered why they weren’t at the seaside.

«It’s far too hot to go anywhere,» said the parents, who really didn’t want to go anywhere, because they were quite happy just lolling around, watching TV all day. And as they watched TV, they reminisced on «just how good it used to be when we were kids.»

And it as always like that with parents, because when mum and dad were kids, everything was better, easier, cheaper, simpler, bigger, happier and hotter than nowadays.

«Oh no summers were far hotter back then»said the parents, but the kids knew that they were lying, because the weatherman had said that this was the hottest ever summer since hot summers had been invented

And as the long, hot, endless sweaty days, melted into one timeless sweltering limbo, the parents began to moan about the hot weather, complaining that it was just too hot and the garden was dry and «It would be nice to see some rain.»

Then, one day, the weather broke.

The sun disappeared.

The sky turned ominous heavy grey.

The clouds burst.

The deluge was here.

In no time the parents were moaning about the rain. It had rained all year. It had been nice to see some sun. Oh dear, summer had been washed away like it had never happened.

«It never rained in summer when we were kids» said mum and dad.

ROCKET TO THE SUN

It was the hottest summer ever and the planet was burning, Fires raged everywhere, and try as they might to put them out all the firemen in all the world just could not manage because there was no more water anywhere, not a single drop. All the rivers had run dry right down in dusty, cracked beds and all the seas and oceans had evaporated.

The chief of all the firemen of all the world went to see the President of the World.

«There’s nothing we can do Mr President» he lamented. «There is no more water left anywhere sir.»

The President of the World thought long and hard, and then had a bright idea, perhaps even brighter than the sun itself.

«We must send a rocket into the sun to switch it off.» he announced

«Switch off the sun!»

The President’s experts and advisers were all a little surprised, but no one else semed to have a better idea, so they all agreed that a rocket should be sent to the sun to switch it off.

As luck would have it, there were plenty of spare rockets around, so the President of the World ordered his rocket builders to choose the biggest and best and most powerful rocket they could find.

«We need someone to fly the rocket sir» said the President’s space expert.

Immediately, the President of the World sent for all his astronauts.

Once assembled, the President announced his bright idea,

«The sun is so hot, that we have decided to send a rocket to the sun and switch it off … We just need one of you to fly it.»

There was a moment of incredulous silence before all the astronauts broke out in one great big enormous, loud astronaut laugh.

The president thumped his hand on his desk

«Gentlemen!» he thundered, «This is serious.»

When the astronauts had finally calmed down, the oldest, most experienced astronaut stepped forward.

«Mr President» he started. «None of us will fly a rocket into the sun. We will just melt. Besides, if you really want to turn off the sun, do you know where the switch is?»

The President thought a long and hard thought and thought that no one had thought of this yet.

He assembled all his specialists, engineers, experts and scientists.

«Gentlemen,» he announced. «We need to switch off the sun, but we don’t know where the switch is, before we can send our rocket, we must find the switch.»

At this, all the specialists, engineers, experts and scientists scurried off to their laboratories and workshops to find a way to find the switch on the sun.

Meanwhile there was still the question of who would fly the rocket.

«If we can’t send a man to the sun, we’ll send a robot,» thought the President, and immediately sent for his robot expert.

«We only have one robot left Mr President» the robot expert announced.

«Just one robot!» said the incredulous President.

«Just one robot Sir» confirmed the expert, «All the rest were recycled into air conditioning units because our discount «made in China» machines all burned out.

«Send for the robot» ordered the President, and presently the last robot in the world arrived, wheezing, whirring, churning and clunking his way slowly and feebly into the President’s office.

«You’re not a very good robot» concluded the president as he cast a quick glance at the machine.

«I’m the only robot you’ve got,» droned the robot in a slow, sad, monotonous, mechanical drawl.

«So be it!» proclaimed the President, «You will fly our rocket to the sun.»

The robot wasn’t very keen on his new «mission», for though he was only a robot, he too had feelings and he was alo sad because he was the last robot on Earth. Since the start of the hottest ever summer, he had seen all his robot friends carted off to be made into air conditioning units to keep humans cool as all their cheap air con units had broken down.

As a robot, he had no choice but to obey, because he was programmed to obey and though he tried as hard as he could to keep breaking down, the human robot engineers and experts kept reparing him, until he was actually in a better state than he had ever been since he had been new, back in the days before long hot summers, when robots were robots and not air conditioners.

The President of the World was very happy, he had his rocket and a robot to fly it, all that remained was to find the switch on the sun.

After days of long hard mathematics, problematics,machinations,calculations and head scratching, the specialists, engineers, experts, and scientists all returned to see the President.

«Gentlemen, have you found the switch?»

«No sir» said the specialists.

«No sir» said the engineers.

«No sir» said the experts.

«No sir» said the scientists.

Exasperated, the President flew into a rage.

«Call yourselves specialists, engineers, experts and scientisits and you can’t even find the switch on the sun …»

Just then, the presidential electrician, who was in the presidential office repairing the presidential air con unit, made a suggestion.

«If I may so bold Mr President» he ventured, «You’ll probably find the switch round the back.»

The specialists, engineers, experts and scientists all turned to stare a thunderous stare at the electrician.

«You’re not a specialist or an, engineer, or an expert or a scientist» scorned the chief specialist/engineer/expert/scientist/professer person.

«I may not be a specialist or an, engineer or an expert or a scientist» replied the electrician, «but I am an electrician» he announced with pride, sticking his thumbs in the braces of his dungarees, and straightening himself up to his full height, which wasn’t much because he was only five foot tall. «As an electrician, I know all about switches, and switches are always around the back.»

«I rest my case» announced the electrician, beaming with pride at this small victory of experience over grey matter.

The chief specialist/engineer/expert/scientist/professer person. had to admit that there was a pretty good chance that, if indeed the sun had a switch, it was probably at the back.

«Now we know where the switch might be, it is time to carry out the mission» cried the president gleefully. «It’s time to save the world.»

And with that, the President of the World sent for his personal hairdresser to comb his floppy blonde hair, then he went on TV to tell everyone how he was going t save the world.

The robot was given his official orders:

– Fly the rocket round the back of the sun

– Flick the switch to turn off the sun

– Fly home (If you can)

So, with the rocket fuelled, and the robot at the commands, countdown started.

«fi’fo’tree»two’wun Blast Off»– shouted the countdown man, and with that the rocket shot into the sky and the future of the whole planet was in the metallic hands of an unwilling robot who wasn’t even sure of the way to the sun.

And the people across the world sweltering in their shuttered-up, darkened, sweaty houses, huddled round their cheap, «made in China» discount air conditioners, watched the take off on TV

«It’s just like when we were kids and we watched to rockets blasting off to the Moon» said mum

«Yeah» sighed dad, getting all nostaligic «but it was better back then.»

RAIN (Reprise)

And as the long, hot, endless sweaty days, melted into one timeless sweltering limbo, the parents began to moan about the hot weather, complaining that it was just too hot and the garden was dry and «It would be nice to see some rain.»

Then, one day, the weather broke.

The sun disappeared.

The sky turned ominous heavy grey.

The clouds burst.

The deluge was here.

In no time the parents were moaning about the rain. It had rained all year. It had been nice to see some sun. Oh dear, summer had been washed away like it had never happened.

And the rain brought water to the earth

And the rains put out all the fires

And the rains filled all the rivers and all the seas and all the oceans.

AND EVERYONE FORGOT ALL ABOUT THE ROBOT FLYING FAR OUT IN SPACE TO GO AND SWITCH OFF THE SUN

]]>http://cheznickenfrance.com/2018/08/12/2706/feed/0dirkbeauregardOld Skin For Old Ceremony
http://cheznickenfrance.com/2018/08/11/old-skin-for-old-ceremony/
http://cheznickenfrance.com/2018/08/11/old-skin-for-old-ceremony/#respondSat, 11 Aug 2018 17:43:30 +0000http://cheznickenfrance.com/?p=2704A poem for complicated people who want to change how we are when how we are works already

I can never change

I’m too far beyond range

I’m too far beyond help or forgiveness

You’ll just say it’s my age

Or my luddite like ways

But how I do what I do’s

Not your business

You’re never much fun

But I get the job done

In my old skin with old ceremony

Old Karma, old sutra

But that doesn’t suit ya

Even though your zeal’s

Pure missionary

I once knew a girl

Now a woman like you

With principles clinging to all we’d do

Hung up on her hang ups,

Brewing storms in tea cups,

Getting off on a down …

With a worn frigid – frown .

]]>http://cheznickenfrance.com/2018/08/11/old-skin-for-old-ceremony/feed/0dirkbeauregardThe Hottest Summer Ever
http://cheznickenfrance.com/2018/08/09/the-hottest-summer-ever/
http://cheznickenfrance.com/2018/08/09/the-hottest-summer-ever/#respondThu, 09 Aug 2018 15:54:23 +0000http://cheznickenfrance.com/?p=2702The start of another silly story – I might finish this one day

It was the hottest day of the hottest ever summer,

It was the hottest ever summer since hot summers had been invented.

Temperatures soared into the hundreds, thousands and millions of degrees.

Ice cream melted in the freezer.

Cold drinks exploded to boiling point as soon as they were out the fridge.

People sizzled like steaks on a barbecue the minute they set foot outside.

And all they could do was sit, and swelter in their shuttered-up darkened sweaty houses, huddled round their cheap «made in China» discount air conditioners, watching TV to pass the time.

And the kids were bored watching all the old TV shows, whilst the parents guffawed at old comedy shows that weren’t funny anymore or sat on the edge of their seats gripped by old soap operas. «TV was better back then» announced the parents.

The TV weatherman droned on about global warming and how we would have more and even hotter summers than this one, whilst parents droned on about older, even hotter summers.

«Oh no, it was far hotter when we were kids, especially in 76.»

«When and where was 76?»wondered the kids

And it was always like that with the parents, because when mum and dad were kids everything was better, easier, simpler, happier and hotter than nowadays,

«Hotter then 76?» asked the kids

«Oh no, it was far hotter then.» replied the parents with a nostalgic smile. Then they staretd again moaning about the hot weather, complaining that everything was just too hot at the moment, and the garden was dry and «it would be nice to see some rain.»

Then one day the weather broke. The sun disappeared, the sky turned an ominous grey, the clouds burst and the rains came and in no time the parents were moaning about the rain. It had rained all year. It had been nice to see some sun – oh dear, all this rain, summer had been washed away like it had never happened.

«Not like in 76,» said the parents.

«The summer just seemed to last forever.» said mum, wearing a dumb nostalgic gaze

«Ah» sighed dad, «We’ll never see summers like that again.»

And all the while the kids wondered. «When and where was 76?»

«When was 76?» asked Billy one day «Was it a long time ago?»

«76, that was the year of the big heat wave,» replied Billy’s dad, «back when me and your mum we’re just kids.» With that, Billy’s dad started to drone on again about how everything was better back when …

As dad rattled on, Billy just switched off (because he could never seem to switch his dad off.)

«If it was all better back then» thought Billy, «Does that mean it’s all bad now?»

Mum and dad would never admit that life for kids now was far better than when they were kids, so how could Billy ever know the truth?

Billy didn’t have to think long. The answer was easy. Just build a time machine and travel back to 76

To be continued …

]]>http://cheznickenfrance.com/2018/08/09/the-hottest-summer-ever/feed/0Time piecedirkbeauregardMore Than a One-Legged Dream (The start of a silly story)
http://cheznickenfrance.com/2018/07/30/more-than-a-one-legged-dream-the-start-of-a-silly-story/
http://cheznickenfrance.com/2018/07/30/more-than-a-one-legged-dream-the-start-of-a-silly-story/#respondMon, 30 Jul 2018 16:26:28 +0000http://cheznickenfrance.com/?p=2699Once upon a long time ago, that was so long ago that no one can remember, everyone in the world lived where they lived and never gave a thought, that there might be anywhere else to live, or even anyone living there. This is how it was a long time ago, so long ago that no one remembers

No one ever thought of leaving where they lived. What was the point of leaving where you lived? You lived where you lived. It was your home and that was that.

No one ever thought of going to other places. No one knew for sure that there were other places and what was the point of leaving to go somewhere that might not even be there? How could you be sure that there was anyone or anywhere else out there?

One day, in a small village on the top of a mountain that was so high that the people who lived in the village thought they were living in the sky, a small boy woke from a strange dream.

He had dreamt of other places.

He told his parents about the dream

« It’s just a silly dream, » said his mum

« It’s just a silly dream,’ » said his dad

And with that, they both hopped off to do their daily doings.

Yes, they hopped off, because in the small boy’s village, everyone hopped everywhere on one leg. It was a tradition as old as time itself and the start of time was a long time ago and so no one, except the people who remembered what life had been like before time began could actually remember why everyone hopped everywhere on one leg.

The small boy went to see the oldest man in the village – a crinkly, worn-out old husk of an old man with a long white beard and long straggly hair – exactly like you’d expect crinkly bearded old men to look like.

The boy ventured into the old man’s hut.

« I’ve had a dream, » he announced the boy « I’ve dreamt that there are other places and I want to go and see them. »

The crinkly bearded old man drew a long breath, longer that his long beard that grew so long he could wrap it several times over his shoulders and still have enough left to walk (or hop) on.

« So, you’ve had a dream of other places » croaked the old man.

« Yes Oh Beardy One » – for that was the name which the people of the village used to call the beardy old man, who, was in fact their wizard. »

« I too have had dreams » announced the Beardy One. « I have had dreams of other places where people walk on two or three or four or even five legs. I have had dreams of places that are not unlike our village, but where people are different. »

The boy was lost for words. He almost fell over. He almost stood on two legs.

« Oh Beardy One » he said « Are there places in the world where people use more than one leg? »

« Oh yes my boy » announced the Beardy One.

The boy paused for thought, daring to ask tat question that should never be asked and had, never been asked.

Summer time and the living is easy, unless you are looking for a place on the beach to unfurl your towel and soak up the sun.

It’s been a long year and we all deserve our place in the sun. Of course, if you want sun, you head south and everyone heads south – hundreds of thousands of people from all over Europe, pouring into that small corner of South Eastern France – the Côte d’Azur. That part of Mediterranean coastline stretching from the outskirts of Toulon up to the Italian border.

Day One

On the beach, and I am Lucky enough to find a few square feet to unfurl my towel, lie on the sand and enjoy a nap. I am rudely awakened by the guttural elastic sounds of Dutch people. I wake I have been besieged by a large tribe of them. When the French go to the beach, they tend to be fairly minimalist. When the Dutch hit the beach, they bring tons of beach essentials – parasols, cool boxes, numerous inflatable’s. They are like a small army on the march. To help their logistical operation, many Dutch carry their beach kit in trolleys. Surrounded by Dutch. I really should move, but I was here first and in true Rupert Brooke style – there is a corner of a foreign beach that is forever England.

Day Two

Time to unleash my flesh on an unsuspecting world. However, over this past year, my middle age spread has spread yet again. I am now what could be termed as flabby. This is the Côte d’Azur where every male is some kind of tanned and sculpted Adonis. I’m scared to take off my T-shirt. On a stroll along the beach though I observe very few « Chippendales » but plenty of flabby blokes grilling red like sides of beef roasting in the sun. It seems at St Tropez that fat is fashionable. Time to rip off the T-shirt and get grilling.

Day Three

Once again besieged by a Dutch tribe, airbeds, parasols and their own garden furniture. I move down the beach next to a hoard of Brits. They spend the afternoon drinking vast quantities of chilled rosé wine in the hot glaring, blazing sun. It is over 30°c. I suppose this is a case of « mad dogs and Englishmen ».

Day Four

We are camped next to a group of French youngsters, who spend the afternoon « groping » each other.

Day Five

Strolling along the beach. Close to the water’s edge mums and dads are building sandcastles for disinterested children and, when mum gets bored, dad carries on. I too would like to build a sandcastle, but my daughter has passed the age of raising towers and now merely raises her eyebrows in nonchalant disdain when I suggest some construction activity. All males possess a sandcastle gene, which is activated during the first throes of holiday fatherhood – but as our kids grow out the sandcastle phase, we never lose it. Guess I’ll just have to wait to be a grandfather and build castles with my grandchildren.

Day Six

The garlic whale is back. I call her the garlic whale. A rather large French woman who stinks of garlic. She floats around on an airbed, and as I splash around, however much I try to avoid her, she always seems to catch me up and then float around me, wafting her garlicky whiff. Today is particularly bad, as I am surrounded by her entire family. No matter where I swim to, they are always there.

Day Seven

As we prepare to leave, the beach is people with new arrivals. White like aspirin and covered in layers of factor 50 sun cream. There is a very military-looking French gent, distributing metal spades to his four children. They all line up, and at the command « shoulder spades », they all march down to the beach. Mum follows up behind carrying a cool box and a parasol. I don’t want to go home. I want to buy a real metal spade and stay here all day building a sandcastle.

Chosen Holiday Reading this year – the Collected Essays of George Orwell – (Penguin Classics ISBN 978-0-14-118306-0) – not an attempt to be intellectual, just I enjoy Orwell’s essays, and this was the book that I grabbed in the last few minutes before leaving the house – in short, ploughing through the likes of « The Lion and the Unicorn », « Politics and the English Language » and « Notes on Nationalism » (the last one should be required reading in all schools – might get my soldiers to read it next year) – all this has inspired me to attempt an essay* on holidays.

Holidays.The usefulness and purpose of.

Slave to the rhythm

The purpose of a Holiday can be summed up in that well-worn cliché – « the chance to get away from it all. »

Get away from what?

Presumably the stresses, strain and familiarity of the daily routine – work, the slave ethic. Slave to one’s job, slave to one’s family, and a slave to the rhythm of everyday life.

On Holiday though, we get away from nothing. We merely replace one routine with another and become slaves to our holiday rhythm.

On the basis that we have paid quite a lot of our hard-earned cash to be somewhere different for two weeks, as opposed to the place where we spend the other fifty weeks of the year, we expect to enjoy ourselves. We MUST enjoy ourselves, or the holiday won’t be worth the money. We must rush about visiting places, or indulging in traditional holiday pursuits. We become slaves to our holidays, or at least slaves to our expectations, and we move heaven and earth to fulfil them, often failing miserably in the process. The result is that we go back to work even more tired and disappointed than when we left to go on holiday. There is little doubt that you always need a holiday after your holiday.

Lethargy or The Very Frightening Prospect of Doing Nothing.

Holidays are primarily all about relaxation. We go on holiday to relax, and we must relax – very stressful. « Chilling out », succumbing to lethargy. Your work-a-day environment has conditioned your brain and body, and suddenly, they have to relax. You have to relax – that is why you are on holiday.

Lie in the sun, unwind and do nothing. When you have been doing something all year, the prospect of just doing nothing is actually very frightening, and so you impose on yourself a holiday rhythm, which is all about filling you day with nothing. BUT, I CAN’T JUST DO NOTHING. So you fill the nothing up with something that you never actually do at home. We read books we would never dream of reading at home. We read magazines that we would never buy at home. We play board games, and we just get bored. Filling nothing with something. You will be more worn out by the end of the day than if you had spent it doing something.

Inactive Guilt

Lethargy can also be a source of guilt. The thought process goes as follows

I am sitting here doing nothing.

I have time on my hands. I should be doing something constructive

During the year I never have time for anything and now I have time and I am wasting it doing nothing

BUT I’M ON HOLIDAY. I AM SUPPOSED TO BE DOING NOTHING

And this is the point where we go and visit something. You join the herds of tourists trooping around monuments, museums or queuing up for culture for hours on end in the blazing sun (or even the pouring rain) outside some gallery or museum … more stress.

« Will I get in? But I am so bored and tired standing here. Is it really worth it? »

And you just want to leave the queue, nip across the road to that tempting-looking bar and quench your thirst with an ice-cold beer, but you can do that at home. You have come all this way to see a world famous monument, landmark, painting, statue or historical site. You may never be back here again. You certainly aren’t going to sit in the shade and have a beer. What will the folks at home say?

Once In a Lifetime

On holiday, we are very much in a « once in a lifetime » frame of mind (though I suppose this depends very much on your destination). This of course brings me to the notion of « The Holiday of a Lifetime. ». Paying rather a lot of money to jet across the world to see one of the Seven Wonders, or lie on some palm- fringed beach, on pristine white sand, staring out at the turquoise sea. Expensive or impossible destinations that are the stuff of dreams. But what is it really like when you actually get there?

I have never actually been anywhere exotic enough to be truly disappointed by the reality, so I will cite a few examples.

A South American gentleman who I once met at the foot of the Eiffel Tower. He had saved up many years to afford a trip to Europe, of which one of the highlights was a visit to Paris. For the two days that he had been in the city, it had rained. He found the place dirty, he didn’t like the French, finding them very rude, and, as for the Eiffel Tower … well it was closed because the staff were on strike. His once in a lifetime was never in his lifetime. « I won’t be back » he confessed.

I had friends who went for a fortnight to the French Caribbean. They arrived during a long period of social unrest. There was a general strike, rioting in the streets and tourists were confined to their hotels under police protection. No staff were working, no food was being cooked, no rooms were being cleaned, and because nothing was getting on or off the island due to the strike, food and drink in the hotel was rationed. Trouble in paradise.

We expect too much of our dreams. It is far better when they never come true. If dreams come true, what is there left to dream about?

A Change is as Good as a Rest

The whole holiday ethic is about change – doing something different for a fortnight as opposed to what we do for the other fifty weeks of the year. In our holiday « mindset » the change often has to be radical. Swapping our damp climate for somewhere more exotic, often as far removed from our daily lives as possible. We hope that with the change; will come a rest, however it is far more relaxing, and perhaps cheaper to stay closer to home, or even stay at home. The sheer fact of having a few days off is holiday enough in itself. Getting up late in the morning and especially getting up to do what you want to do rather than getting up for to go to work. A real and genuine change.

In recent years there has been an increase in the species known as « Staycationers » – those who spend their vacation at home. There is a lot of truth in the idea the place people know the least is the place where they live. Living and working in a city like Paris or London does not necessarily mean that you know the place. You may walk down Oxford Street or even the Champs Elysées to work everyday, but you certainly don’t know the place, or rather you know it only as a place of work. Taking time out to see your everyday surroundings from another angle is a constructive change.

Much of the time, your fatigue comes from familiarity, which as we know breeds contempt and when you begin to despise your surroundings, it is time to change, but you don’t have to travel halfway across the planet to do it. Mental change is as good, if not better than physical change. Breaking up your routine and everyday behavioural pattern is the first step on the road to true relaxation. If you go far away on holiday, but have not worked a bit on the spiritual side before, you are simply changing places, but taking all your problems with you.

We tend to forget this when taking a holiday. We work like slaves right up until the last few hours before departure. Then comes the stress of holiday preparation and the hassle of the journey. You arrive on holiday in a state of nervous exhaustion. Whether you are in Brighton or Bali, the relaxing holiday you expected won’t happen, however, we still seem to believe that because we are at least physically detached from our daily lot, we will instantaneously relax.

Journeys into the Known and the Unknown – Adventurers Vs Anthropologists.

There are those for whom a holiday must be an adventure – a journey into the unknown, an encounter with new cultures – a true Learning, and perhaps a life enriching experience. Then, there are those, like me, who pretty much enjoy coming back to the same place every year precisely because the holiday is not an adventure, just a moment to relax. The advantages of coming back to the same place every year are numerous. First and foremost there are no nasty surprises, you know exactly what to expect. Secondly it is reassuring. Out here in Corsica, I know where the local doctors are; I know where the hospital is. I know if I have a problem I am in France and things will happen just the same way as they do at home. I know too that the beaches will be clean. And of course, there are those holiday acquaintances – those people that I meet every year at the same time and whom I only ever meet on holiday – the regulars.

A few years back, I was chatting to a gentleman who had been going to the same campsite on the Atlantic coast for over thirty years. Every year, the last fortnight in August on the same emplacement. « I always go camping there because I like it » he said quite simply. I told him that if he liked the place so much, why didn’t he buy a holiday home there. The gent was quite shocked. For starters he was a camper and would never dream of renting a self catering flat or holiday cottage. Secondly as a camper, he was always free to go where he wanted, quite simply though, he never wanted to go anywhere else. « Besides » he smiled « camping is always a great adventure. »

All this of course will make « holiday adventurers » recoil in horror. It is just so boring to go to the same place every year. I must admit though, that I find the « adventurers » just a tad boring too. They fly off to the ends of the earth and… well, in the old days they would invite you round to see interminable slides of their last adventure – nowadays they set up a blog or a website so you can read about their exploits in real time – hang on, isn’t that what I am doing now? Well not really, I am just doing my usual blog, but from a different place.

I honestly think though that these « adventurer » types never take time to understand where they are going. Sure they read up on the web, they buy all the fashionable guidebooks, and when they go, they may even try to live like the locals, but they go one place and that is enough for the rest of their life. I think that in coming the same place every year, especially somewhere like Corsica with its complex history and its own unique identity, you really learn about how people tick, you get to know the locals, and when you understand more about their history, you begin to comprehend their attitudes, their behaviour, their reactions. I like to think deep down that the yearly holiday in Corsica has gone beyond the holiday; we are now in the realms of anthropology.

]]>http://cheznickenfrance.com/2018/07/30/holidays-the-usefulness-and-purpose-of-2/feed/1Numériser 21dirkbeauregardThoughts on Travel Writing
http://cheznickenfrance.com/2018/07/29/thoughts-on-travel-writing-2/
http://cheznickenfrance.com/2018/07/29/thoughts-on-travel-writing-2/#commentsSun, 29 Jul 2018 15:49:10 +0000http://cheznickenfrance.com/?p=2684In this holiday season, some thoughts on Travel Writin, taken from my 2014 novel “Ashes for Salmon” – still up there for sale on Amazon.

1 -Thoughts On Travel Writing

Travel Books

In a suburban bookshop, perusing the numerous travel books, I notice there are plenty of books about people who have been many different, distant, far-flung exquisite and exotic places. There are also a few books by writers who haven’t been anywhere far off, exotic, decent or even interesting. I suppose the point being that they have written about places no one would ever dream of going because they are so dreary, and this fact alone makes them of interest.

Travel Writing

1) – Travel writing does not appear to be about one person going many different places. There are many different books by many different authors, but each person only ever seems to have been one place. Many books also concern the same place. You wonder if the various authors didn’t get a reduced group travel rate and all go together. The only difference between the books seems to be how the various authors got to where they were going and what they did when they got there.

2) – There are those travel books telling the reader about the author’s travels and there are those travel books telling the reader what to do when he or she gets to the destination (guide books for want of a better name). In either case, how can you be sure that the author has actually been to the place they have written about?

3) – A lot of travel happens in books. There is perhaps more travelling done by book than by any other medium.

4) – If you don’t like where you have travelled to by book, it is easy to close the book, put it back on the shelf, and choose another journey. Far simpler than actually having all the trouble and expense of going somewhere you don’t like. Why on earth did you go somewhere you didn’t like in the first place? You should have read about it before you went.

2 – Considerations for travel writing

A suitable departure point

Choice of destination

Means of conveyance

Departure

I suppose you are going to leave simply from where you come from, however most travel writers like to choose a symbolic departure point. Going from London to Paris, you might well leave from Trafalgar Square and end your journey at the foot of the Eiffel Tower. Leaving from a symbolic departure point does of course entail some “pre-travelling” before you begin your journey.

Destination

The choice of destination is actually not of paramount importance. If you are going somewhere though, it is always best to have somewhere to go. A final destination (of sorts). Whether you actually make it to your final destination or somewhere else matters little, just as long as you end up somewhere, anywhere or nowhere (even the last two are very valid and real destinations). It is important to have some vague geographical objective even if only to know which way to turn when you get to the end of the street. Would it much matter, though, if you had a last minute change of heart and chose to go in a different direction to that which you had originally intended? If you are going round the world, you are going to come back on yourself anyway.

Means of Conveyance.

My mum used to say that she “didn’t come up the Clyde on a bicycle.” Now there’s an interesting mode of transport for a fluvial journey. The means of conveyance to take you TO and FROM or FROM and TO very much depends on where you are going. Crossing the desert by camel, travelling round France in a 2CV car – but do we really want to read about something so clichéd? Impossible, or incongruous, means of transport for everyday journeys and incredible journeys using everyday means of conveyance. Motorbikes are very popular but what about travelling round France on a camel or even coming up the Clyde on a bicycle?

3 – The Purpose Of Travelling

The purpose of travelling is (obviously) to change air, get a new perspective, do something different, discover new cultures, or have an adventure (you choose).

Travelling, therefore, is going somewhere else to have a new experience and then, at some point, come home.

The place has to be interesting or exciting enough to make it worth your going there in the first place.

Travel writing therefore is essentially writing about it all – telling others about what you did, when you went somewhere – like writing your holiday postcards, but, when you get home, AND making it sound interesting enough to make others want to go there, and also to get it published.

This afternoon, I am in a bookshop in Bromley. I could write about my travels to, in and around this sinister corner of South London BUT Bromley is perhaps not exotic enough.

4 – What have people written about?

Riding round India on an Enfield motorbike and stopping off on the way to talk to some interesting locals and knock up a curry using some “real” ingredients that you will never find in your local supermarket.

Farting around Northern Italy on a Vespa – visiting typical Tuscan and Umbrian villages, popping in Renaissance churches, zooming round vineyards for a wine tasting, then eating in an authentic little restaurant and chatting fluent Cappuccino with the locals.

(You could do the same in France in a 2CV – come to think of it, as I peruse these books, I can’t find any about rolling round France in a 2CV.)

5 – Other Writings

Plenty of works about walking the Pilgrim ways of Europe (always accompanied by a donkey) – Compostela, Canterbury, Fatima and Lourdes. Voyages of self-discovery by agnostic types who don’t really find God, but certainly drink plenty of wine on the way.

Round China On a Train.

My Trip On the Trans Siberian.

Floating Down the Canals of France.

Round the USA On a Harley Davidson.

Round the World On the Smallest Boat You Can Find.

I might try my hand at travel writing. Just have to think of places I have been and all the interesting or idiosyncratic people I have met. Where can I start?

]]>http://cheznickenfrance.com/2018/07/29/thoughts-on-travel-writing-2/feed/1dirkbeauregardThe Joys of Summer
http://cheznickenfrance.com/2018/07/29/the-joys-of-summer-2/
http://cheznickenfrance.com/2018/07/29/the-joys-of-summer-2/#commentsSun, 29 Jul 2018 15:40:44 +0000http://cheznickenfrance.com/?p=2682A few personal thoughts and trashy drawings on the joys of summer (written over the years.

Of course, summer is for this.

]]>http://cheznickenfrance.com/2018/07/29/the-joys-of-summer-2/feed/1dirkbeauregardTourists
http://cheznickenfrance.com/2018/07/29/tourists/
http://cheznickenfrance.com/2018/07/29/tourists/#respondSun, 29 Jul 2018 11:57:12 +0000http://cheznickenfrance.com/?p=2671Tourists – we are, we have been and we will be. The whole world is on holiday, and on the move. We jet across the planet to see what there is to see on the other side and the locals curse the influx of tourists, then we come home and we too curse those “Bloody tourists”. I love tourists, they make for a great photo, and let’s face it, most of the time you go to tourist attractions,the tourists are far more interesting than the monuments. Here, a selection of photos from Venice , Paris, Monacco and London – the best of the worst of those “bloody tourists.”
Tourism is big in MonaccoThe locals wouldn’t wear this – Rue de Rivoli, Paris; July 2017Visiting Notting Hiil. London August 2017

have to say, thanks to all those weak comedies set in and around Notting Hill in London, the place has become a tourist attraction.

Seeing is beliveing – those huge multi-storey cruise liners that sail right into the heart of Venice. Starnge how this looks more like high rise social housing than a luxury liner.

Canal CruisingCruising in style

For 75 Euros, a punt down a Venetian canal complete with a bottle of fizzy wine, an accordeonist and an Itlaina tenor warbling “O sole mio.”

Respite in Venice

Tourists come in waves

Tourist OnslaughtFollow the red umbrella

Admiring the scenery – Carnac, Brittany, FranceWe’re here, so, let’s enjoy it!
]]>http://cheznickenfrance.com/2018/07/29/tourists/feed/0DSC_0370dirkbeauregardPointless Places
http://cheznickenfrance.com/2018/07/19/2648/
http://cheznickenfrance.com/2018/07/19/2648/#commentsThu, 19 Jul 2018 13:40:46 +0000http://cheznickenfrance.com/?p=2648I got the idea listening to that Tom Petty song “Freefalling”, living in a house with a freeway going through the yard. It all sounded so mundaine and depressing. Images of beer swilling teens sitting round a small pool trying to capture summer whilst cars and trucks thunder overhead.

Too hot to move and no air, I got in the car with the camera and drove round for hours with the aircon going full throttle – something to do, something to kill time in this urban summer cemetery

The suffocating boredom of a small town summer’s day.

You wanna scream at the sun for the rains to come

And wash it all away.

Those pointless places, those pointless landscapes the stifling mediocrity of a small town summer.

GarageSupermarketCentral GarageBuilding SiteBurger WallRoad Out Of TownLampostDown by the brickworksFancy and ice cream?Beach by the lake.Seat in the Sun
]]>http://cheznickenfrance.com/2018/07/19/2648/feed/1OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAdirkbeauregard